That Good Night
by whenimdeadillrest
Summary: At the end of the War, Harry has to take up a task that has him wander around the globe for almost a century, fighting to stay in control of the Darkness sealed inside of him. It isn't until he meets a human-turned-vampire that he finally gains his peace. AU. HP/EC.
1. Prolouge

Hello good readers! This is my first Twilight/Harry Potter story, and I am very please to announce that. I have read almost all stories in this category, but some of them just don't quite do it for me. Hopefully, you will enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you, and please, feedback is greatly appreciated. Quick note, this is major AU from the HP universe, so be prepared. - whenimdeadillrest

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight, or the names, events, and places associated with them. They belong to Stephenie Meyer and J.K. Rowling, prospectively.

_"Do not go gently into that good night." - (Dylan Thomas)_

It was cold.

The sheer-white blackness seemed to stretch on forever, not once giving pause to a moment in need. The chilling wind furiously blew about, knocking him over and over and over. But still, he walked. And wandered. And questioned his very own existence on the empty plane. Some steps he forgot why he was even still making his journey (what journey?) when he would hear a piercing wail cut through the silence, abruptly reminding him of his purpose.

Looking behind him, he saw the Darkness looming over the horizon- brewing like a storm, its tendrils spreading like veins of black blood on pale skin. At the sight, he would take a fright, gasp, and run.

_"...now...run, Harry...run..."_

This time was different- this time, the Darkness caught up with him. He could feel the hot breath on the back of his neck; the Dark coiling around and up his legs, covering him until he could no longer see the blizzard ahead, almost distant now.

He could feel the Darkness cry victory as it consumed him. His hope was almost gone when his hand broke free of the cloud and just _reached_. "Help! Help, please, somebody help me!" But it was too late, he was gone gone gone and all he ever did and all he could ever do came to an excruciating halt.

He was on fire.

Oh, how he wished he could have been faster, stronger, more prepared, more strong! If it weren't for him they would be all alive, after all. The fire continued- eating him and scorching his very blood. But something was wrong, he thought. The Darkness... the Darkness is screeching to be away from him- he could see the white. He tried to aid in it's panic but it was stuck to him. Stuck to him and through him and why won't it come off?!

Instantaneously, the Darkness was gone- burned away. Falling to his knees, he gasped for breath that was almost lost to him, peering through bright green eyes and wiping away his black mess of hair. Looking up, he saw a figure in the distance. Shadowed against the pure blizzard. Confused, he became startled when a piercing wail came from right behind him.

Hurriedly, he spun around expecting some attack from the Darkness he was freed from, only to see a sickly babe thrashing on the ground, melting.

_"You're safe now...No more need to run, I'm here...Harry."_

Then he was yanked away by the edge of his core, away from the constant white and looming Darkness and through colors and feelings and he didn't know what was happening but can he please have his Ed-

All was gone again.


	2. Chapter 1: At Close of Day

So, here it is- the first chapter! Last chapter, when I said HP AU, I moved the timeline back almost 90 years. The basic storyline still takes place. As in, Harry goes to Hogwarts his eleventh year, meets Sirius, searches for the Horcruxes and all that. Really the only thing I'm trying to convey that is different is that Harry, while rebellious, has more of a maturity level than in the books/movies. Also, a lot of this chapter may seem to flash and skip around a lot. I hope you catch onto that, as I did it purposefully! If any confusion, please, let me know. Enjoy (: -whenimdeadaillrest

_

_"Old age should burn and rave at close of day; …"_

London, early 1900s

Harry Potter was a simple man. He grew up in a simple home with simple people, and went to a simple school. At least, that's what he wanted to believe. The truth is that Harry Potter, while maybe simple, was also complicated, young, and reckless. His home (though he would not call it as such) growing up was a facade of elegance, and his school (upon entering at his eleventh age) was the subject of folklore and fantasy.

As a child, Harry was lead to believe that, because of the size of his head, his mother died while giving birth to him. His father, on the other hand, was a drunk and got himself killed one night coming home from the local pub. Due to all this and more, it was only by the gracious nature of his mother's only sister Petunia and her husband Vernon Dursley did he live and have a roof over his head. "But you have to earn it," she'd say. So as it goes, Harry was expected to do all morning chores with the maid before sun-up, and he was to stay in the cellar until it was time to prepare dinner, for which he was held responsible for half of. At the age of nine, Harry was able to perform all his duties without the help of the maid, Edith. It was at this point that Mr. Dursley decided to rid his home of the maid so he could use the money to pay the mortgage. Harry, with Edith as his only companion and mother-figure, was very upset. His protests were unheard, alas, and met with the slap of Mr. Dursleys' hand to his face and a night without dinner.

"Do not worry, my boy. You are meant to do greater things- you will see." Edith walked with as much dignity she could muster to the cellar, gathered her things, and with a last parting kiss to Harry's cheek, and left his life forever.

/

"Boy, come here right this minute!"

Harry jumped, startled at the rage in his uncle's voice. Hurrying, he scuffled all his tin men- collected from the trash piles outside his cousins' school- under his pillow and raced through the cellar door and up the small set of stairs to the main entrance hall. Passing the portrait of Dudley, his cousin, he made an abrupt right turn and came to his uncle, red-faced and pudging out from his tailored suit (which, as it always was, worn on the hems and seams).

"What is the meaning of this?!" Mr. Dursley yelled. Harry, frightened and confused, could not understand what his uncle was asking of him. "What do you mean, dear Uncle?" he hesitantly spoke.

"Do not speak back to me! I mean of this letter! You know you are to have no outside contact! The Devil is too strong in you- the risk of contamination is too high!" he yelled, holding his fist up in the air and shaking it back and forth._ Letter?_ Harry thought, _Who would send me a letter...?_

It was then that Harry caught sight of the letter in his hand, crumpled and spotted from the sweat rolling off his uncle's skin.

Giving a great huff, Mr. Dursley turned around and stalked over to the living area, where he through the letter into the fireplace. "There. Boy, as soon as that's finished you get the brushes and clean this chimney, you understand? I can't be the head of the Chimney Sweepers if my own is a wreck. Well? Get to it!" And so Harry gathered the sweeping supplies down by the cellar and came back to the fireplace, only to stop and admire the painting of his mother along the way (even if his aunt cries of her hatred towards her sister, she oddly keeps this painting downstairs in the cellar hall).

Eyeing the dying fire, Harry notices that the letter was on one of the charred logs. Harry's heart seemed to skip a beat at the sight of it. For, even having been thrown to the flames, the letter had not burned. To whom it was addressed was even visible. Kneeling closer to the pit, Harry eyed the letter, wondering what the best way to pick it out would be. Feeling a sense of wonderment, he reached into the fire and pulled the letter out. Falling on his back haunches, Harry stared wide-eyed at the letter.

_Harry Potter_

_Cellar Next to the Basement Stairs_

_Surrey, London_

Perplexed, Harry looked around to make sure no one was insight. It seemed that Aunt Petunia had left to drop off his cousin Dudley at the church-schoolhouse, and Uncle Vernon was across the building in the east-wing preparing for work. Hurriedly, Harry hid the letter under his coat and in the waistband of his britches. He then set himself to sweep the chimney, quietly forcing himself to forget that he had just cleaned it last week, during the yearly house cleaning.

/

Laying in his cot, Harry moved his candle over closer to him where he would be able to read his letter by candlelight. Securing the small tray on the hook on the wall, he laid down and covered himself with the thin, flimsy blanket he has had since he was just a babe. Looking back to the door and making sure it was locked, Harry pulled the letter out from under his pillow, admiring the green ink that his name had been written in. Turning the latter around, he took in the ruby red wax seal of the sender: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Swallowing his fear, he carefully slid his finger under the seal and opened the envelope, sliding out the contents within.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Harry pulled out the attached pieces of parchment, and read through his supplies. _Robes...Magical Theory... An owl?_ Behind all his thoughts of confusion and worry of how he was to get his supplies and pay for them, Harry felt a sense of thankfulness. Because somewhere, out there, someone had remembered he turned eleven today, and got him his very own birthday present. _A wizard..._

It all came crashing down seven years later.

Because, for all the good and great that Hogwarts and magic was made out to be, it was also not. Dark preyed on every unsuspecting victim and loomed over every shoulder. The Dark Lord had returned, and it was for the greater good that Harry was to become his killer. Murderer. Executioner. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore made sure to have the young Harry prepared for his destiny. From raging Basilisks to illegal entry to a deadly tournament, Harry survived the tasks well. But at what costs? _Oh, Lilly... what age has done to an old man._

Because, for all the friends and family Harry had made in his time in the Wizarding World, he was isolated. Albus could see the mistakes he himself had made stick to the young man in a way that was impossible to be rid of. The world, quite literally, stood and held onto his shoulders, begging for saving and redemption. But Harry was not the prophesied child for nothing. He bent over and sideways to make sure these people were in good hands- made sure that the government accommodated victims of the war, that Death Eaters would not be a problem come the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Albus regretted a lot of things in his life. From the death of his sister to the corruption of Gellert Grindelwald. But none stood out most like the stolen life of Harry Potter. And even in his place among the stars, Albus wished he had done things a bit differently. Even just a little bit.

Because, Harry Potter, once the Boy-Who-Lived, is now the Boy-Who-Lives-Forever, forever carrying Albus' own mistake in his heart, body, and soul.

_"Harry Potter... Come to die."_

The voice of the Dark Lord echoed across and over the clearing. Harry felt it slime over his skin and passed his ears. Unflinchingly, he stared into the eyes of Voldemort. Dark, cold, red eyes calculating his moves- wondering what was on his mind. Narrowed eyes, suspicious of the sudden (successful) use of Occlumency by the boy.

But Harry stood- still and without (showing) fear. This was his destiny. His fate. His purpose. And, as Voldemort shot out his wand and a jet of bright green light came speeding towards him, all Harry thought was that he hoped the War had not been in vain, that he made his parents proud.

And all was gone.


	3. Chapter 2: Dying of the Light

Wow, what a tremendous response! Thank you for following my story, I hope it meets some expectation. Just a head's up, things for the Twilight series go pretty AU here. It's pretty short, but I wanna just speed over what is canon so we can get to the good stuff.

Feedback is also greatly appreciated.

Enjoy. (: -whenimdeadillrest

/

_"Rage, rage against the dying of the light."_ (Dylan Thomas)

Chicago, 1927

"Edward, won't you come in and play a round?"

Staring out the back balcony of his current confinement, Edward (newly turned) Cullen saw the gaze of his mother's eyes glaring right back at him through the glass window. _How odd_, he thought, _how odd is it that my eyes are no longer the same shade, yet they convey exactly what I am feeling at this moment, everyday_.

Turning to look at his sire, Carlisle Cullen, he pursed his lips and considered the best way to break the news. "A game?" he asked.

"Why, yes. Darling Esme just acquired a fine piece of a glass set just for us. I thought it would also be a good time to work on that mind of yours," Carlisle said.

_My mind, oh just the mere mention of it sends a tremor through my ears and a roar above my head._

Pausing a last time, Edward thought that maybe leaving in the middle of the day without the cover of the night would not be the best idea. Meeting Carlisle's eyes, he saw his answer.

"Carlisle, I am to make my departure tonight."

A silence filled the room._ How odd_, Edward thought,_ how odd it is to feel like a child again after ten years of this life._

"Departure? But to where, Edward? Are you not feeling well?" Esme's voice broke through the air. Her thoughts were wired and frantic, as they have been since she first joined their little group. He was suddenly reminded of his mother's deflections against his desire for war. It did not make it hurt less when he took notice that her hair curled in such a way that it was reminiscent of the way his father's hair curled around his ears.

"I am just fine, Esme. I merely seek to journey on my own, just for a little while. I wish to see the city lights and country sides at my own pace." Edward was starting to feel a little bit more than nervous. Could she tell? Did she know his real reasons? He did not have an easy escape from his blood lust He did not lose a son to an abusive husband, like her. He did not have any legitimate reasons to kill a person with his own venom-coated teeth. But not any longer._ I will free you, do not fret, he will no longer walk the same Earth as you or your son._

A pause. No chests are moving, no legs shaking. Just statues in a parlor dressed up with fancy lamps and seating for appearance sake. Edward looked back to Carlisle, and saw a flash of red in his mind and felt a deep rooted shame wash over him. "I understand, Edward. Go as your own. You know how to find us again."

_I cannot be this... this thing and not do what I am meant to do... God has already put me in my place, why not reap the benefits? I will do good, by doing this bad. I will be free from this prison and never come back._

He left right then, picking up his suitcase behind a tree a mile from the house full of a pair of black pants, a few dress shirts and jackets, money, and shoes.

The next few years will be filled with murderers and scandals and children too young to know a man's tough and woman too beautiful to be forced to it. And blood. Red, thick, savory blood.

He will regret nothing.

/

Edward came back four years later, with blood on his tongue and in his eyes and running down his arms to his hands and staining everything he touched.

"Welcome back, son." Carlisle became his father in that moment, with Esme as his second mother. He will never forgot his first mother, but he couldn't remember much of his father, anyhow, and even aside from that all or any memories of him were filled with scorn and anger.

So then came Rosalie who brought with her Emmett and a biting tongue. Alice with a smile in her eyes and Jasper with scars up his arms found them soon later. They were his family, he was their family. For a moment (a few years) he thought he felt happy, content.

But there always seemed to be an emptiness in him, in his heart. He tried filling it with music, and that sufficed for a little while, but it always persisted, not matter how many years had passed.

Then he met Bella Swan, a light in his never-ending darkness.

At first he was sure he would kill her, right there in the middle of that twenty-first century high school classroom. He had all the possible scenarios planned out in his head, the thoughts of other students quieting to a soft murmur in the back of his mind. _You can't, you can't, think of Carlisle, and sweet, sweet Esme...don't, you can't, don'tdoitdon'tdoitnonononononono._

He left as fast as he could when that class bell rang. Running away her was all for naught, though, as it seemed she was hell-bent on running towards him. He guesses he was so used to being alone that the possibility of finding someone to share himself with scared him more than he let on.

She was plainly looking, and he isn't sure when she became beautiful to him, but she was soft and gentle, hard and rough, and her mind was unknown to him. It was glorious. Her laughter warmed his heart, and her kisses fired up his soul. He felt as if finally, finally he was where he was meant to be.

It was in her death that he realized that there had been an emptiness to it the entire time.

James was a wicked man. He sought for the pleasure in killing and took pride in the sanguine shade of his irises. "He's a tracker," Alice had warned. All precautions were thrown to the wind when Bella herself (was it out of selflessness? bravery? stupidity?) went into James' hands to save her mother, who wasn't in any danger to begin with.

He still smells James' ashes on his skin, her blood on his own breath.

What time is it now? Edward does not know. His heart has frozen over, again, and with it had gone his own self. Did he miss her? No. Why not? I am a devil in disguise...not worth human emotion. He laid still in the tree tops above her grave, hidden by the many flora of the branches.

Edward notices when his family comes to visit (him? her?) but he pays them no mind. The emptiness seems almost all-consuming now, taking over every thought and vision.

It was Jasper that finally broke him through.

"Edward," he voice drifted down from the branches above his head. "Edward, you have to listen to me. Alice has had a vision." A vision? Edward remembers the last time Alice had a vision. It was of Bella, dead.

But the statement was not enough to interest Edward, and anyways, his vision had gone blurry weeks ago from not feeding.

"Something is coming. Someone is coming. For you, Edward. Are you listening to me?" For me? Someone is coming for me?

_It is Death...waiting for my long-awaited arrival._

Edward cranked his head up to squint at his brother. Confusion confusion confusion, desperation, loneliness, heartbreak, longing, desperation, pain, confusion, thirsty, thirsty, thirtsythirstythirstythirsty .

And so Jasper, with a calming air, took his brother with him to the slain mountain lion hiding a few miles away to feed on, and led him to their new home in Alaska.

It has been five years since Bella's death, but more than fifty since Harry Potter's.


End file.
